


Hellbender Part 2

by Hydra_In_Brooklyn



Series: Hellbender [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/F, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Slow Burn, venom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 11:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_In_Brooklyn/pseuds/Hydra_In_Brooklyn
Summary: After escaping HYDRA with her life, Vivienne begins her new job in California and tries to make strides toward forgetting her involvement with STRIKE and all of their dirty secrets that she can't quite wash her hands of. She reunites with an old friend who will always be there for her until life reminds her that her ties with Agent Brock Rumlow and his HYDRA history are far from over.





	1. New Roots

The office wanted to feel warm. Sun had just broken over the top of the horizon and orange rays of light chased each other across the dark grey floor. It was a gorgeous abstraction of the materials of man and nature, those rays that were changing color as they aged and the cold, cold floor providing them some space to exist. Harmonious.   
Brock Rumlow watched the changing stripes of color as they ran over the floor, across his feet, over his arms. He couldn’t look up for fear of seeing the one thing he dreaded the most from any superior.   
The words in the room were lost to him. He caught fragments of them, pieces of a conversation that he was supposed to be a part of, but he chose to be somewhere else entirely. It was hard to acknowledge that he had made irreversible mistakes that had gotten him here.   
“Agent Rumlow. You haven't offered anything to this conversation since it started. I called you up here to listen to what Rogers has to say to me. Judging by your lack of objection, it seems as if you have something to confess.”  
Brock finally lifted his eyes from the floor to meet those of Director Pierce. He couldn’t look at Rogers, who stood only a few feet away beside him. His director's disappointment was evident in the way his eyes squinted a little, the way his jaw was set, and the way his body was leaned forward into the expectation for his response. He knew this wouldn't be the last time he would have this conversation with Pierce. Here and now, however, Pierce was on his best behavior. What he lacked here he would make up for that evening.  
Brock looked coolly back at his superior. “I’d like to speak to my attorney.”

 

Both Brock and Rogers left the office at the same time. It was Saturday, and everyone had left the upper floors of the building except for a few of the secretaries. Brock tried to adjust his pace so that Rogers wasn't so close and then Rogers did the same, catching up to him. Brock focused on the elevator doors ahead.   
“Rumlow, I think you're making this harder than it has to be. How long are you going to draw this out before everything comes back to the same conclusion?”  
Brock wished he would shut up. He needed time to think and plan. He also needed time to come up with an explanation for his one-on-one meeting with Pierce that night. He kept his pace up and kept silent until he reached the elevator. He pushed the button with probably more than enough force was necessary.   
Rogers waited right beside him while the elevator made its way up to them. “I think we both have a pretty good understanding of how SHIELD responds to code misconduct. I also think that you know what you did the other day was only the tip of the iceburg with you.”  
Brock knew that the accusation was meant to bait him into having a conversation. He knew what Rogers was doing and even though he was fully aware of how his words could easily be used against him in court, the topic was too tempting to turn down.   
The elevator doors dinged open. “An accusation like that doesn't just pop outta nowhere, Rogers.” Brock stepped into the elevator and Rogers followed him. The doors shut. “If you have something to teach me about my own activities over these past years, please enlighten me. I'd love to hear the fiction you've cooked up to throw against me.”  
Rogers squinted at him, a mirthless smile on his lips. “This is hardly fiction.”  
“I’ll be the judge of that.”  
“What I don’t get is why? Why are you taking your team down with you? Surely not everyone was on board with your blatant disregard for SHIELD codes. Is that why Agent Brady is no longer with us?”  
Brock squinted at him. “What? What exactly are you accusing me of? Agent Brady was killed in action.”  
“I know you’ve been taking jobs outside of SHIELD and using the STRIKE team to fill mercenary contracts. I’d like to see you deny that.”  
Brock was speechless. He honestly didn't even know how to respond. Here he was searching for some way to excuse all of this, to cover everything up so that he didn’t expose the underbelly of Insight, and here was Rogers giving him an alibi that might as well have been gift wrapped. The guy was all but covering up every mission he had secretly conducted for HYDRA with the accusation that he had been taking jobs from private contracts. This would be manageable. The small amount that he had probably seen in order to make the accusation had apparently not been enough to give his sleeper position inside of SHIELD away.  
“Hm.” He said. He would play along. “The plot is lacking though…The part where you produce the evidence.”  
“I feel like we can produce more than enough of that from you.”  
Brock chuckled and shook his head, turning a little to gaze out the glass wall of the elevator and out across the expanse of water between them and DC. “How so? What’s your source? You’ve had to have had a creative thinker.”  
“Everything is on your desktop.”  
Brock looked back at him. He knew that Rogers had seen things, but being reminded of the abuse of his privacy in his absence touched a bit of a nerve. Rogers would have had to dig around to get access to his files and that meant the guy had already had a hunch. Him and his stupid girlfriend. “Open confession, Rogers. You’ve openly confessed that you went through my computer,” he clicked his tongue. “Seems like we’re both playing dirty. I wonder if we can bring your methods up when you’re trying to burn me at the stake for a crime I didn’t commit. I did fuck Donahue. I’ll admit that. See? I can be fucking open, too. But don’t—“ He stepped toward Rogers and bared his teeth. “Don’t you fuckin throw me under the bus for an accusation unless you’ve got proof. I think we both know a little something about reputation.”  
Rogers didn’t seem to allow himself to be perturbed by Brock’s threat. “What would you do if I told you that Bradshaw is the agent who is checking your computer right now under the supervision of the investigation officer that’s on this case?”  
Brock boiled. The guy could get under his skin. “Rogers,” he said evenly. “Like I just fucking told you…I’ve got nothing to hide.”

 

“Is that right?”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
The greenish yellow fluorescent lighting coming from Brock’s office bounced out and over the floor of the gym, reflecting across the lenses of Alexander Pierce’s glasses. It was the first time in a long time that he had taken the time to come down to the first floor of the Triskelion to check up on the team that he was supposed to be running. It was easy to say that one had control over something when they were running things from the penthouse. It was easier to see the big successes than all of the little failures. It seemed Pierce had realized that in light of recent events, and he had taken the time to personally come down and interrogate both Brock and Agent Rollins. Clearly, Rollins had been brought into the mix to ensure that everything Brock told Pierce was the truth. It seemed that Insight was more important than a decade's worth of friendship these days.   
“So you are aware of what I'm going to do about this.”  
Brock met Pierce's gaze. “I realize you'll have to do what is necessary with her. I would have done it myself in the end, but the opportunity never presented itself.”  
“But the opportunity to bang her one last magical time certainly did, didn't it, Agent Rumlow?” Pierce broke off, chuckling a little while Brock kept his face stony. “Jeeesus. All the paperwork. All the time you had to make sure this didn't happen. You realize, of course, that you can't lead the team anymore. You've ruined that for yourself and it would just look bad all around to the rest of these SHIELD goons.”  
Brock clenched his molars, but he didn’t say anything that he wanted to. He knew he was the best person for the job and if Pierce was out in the field like they all had been, he would have seen that. Hell, it would have even justified why he had kept Donahue alive all this time. She had been an asset, as much as she was now an unbelievable setback. He could sense Rollins shift his weight a little beside him. He admired the guy and he knew Rollins had a lot of potential, but he wasn't STRIKE leader material. Surely Pierce had heard the rumors about Rollins and Cooper. He would have thought that would have been enough for someone who prided himself on being old-fashioned.   
“Since you have fucked this up so far beyond recognition of the vision that I had originally had for STRIKE, we need a show of good faith. I'm appointing Steve Rogers to lead the team.”  
“You can't be serious,” Brock couldn't help the outburst.   
“Oh, I am. You almost single handedly exposed one of the biggest operations in HYDRA history, Agent Rumlow. At this point, you can count on me being completely serious. So serious, in fact, that if you slip up again, I will personally slit the throats of each of your dogs, bulldoze your mother’s grave, kill your girlfriend--well, that might as well already be a check off the list, since I’ve sent some of our boys to find her and do whatever they think is necessary to make up for the stress you’ve caused me...anyways. Need I go on?”  
Brock didn’t answer. He held Pierce’s gaze even though he wanted to rip the guy’s watery eyeballs out of his head.   
“Assuming that’s a ‘no’, I’ve appointed Steve Rogers the head of the STRIKE team to bail the majority of STRIKE out of the deep water you dragged them into. This is how we gain his trust back. The illusion of having a clear view of everything does well to keep him busy with other tasks that doesn't include digging us up before we can complete Insight. Oh--” he had started to back off and Brock had hoped that he would leave, but he clearly wasn’t quite finished. “And Agent Romanov will be taking a temporary spot on the team as well at Fury’s request.”  
“Jesus,” Brock heard Jack mutter beside him.   
“How are we supposed to operate?” Brock asked, trying to keep the biting irritation out of his voice.   
“The way you were supposed to have before you let your dick get the best of you,” Pierce had begin to walk away. “secretly, Agent Rumlow. Secretly.”

 

 

 

“I try to keep track of it all. All of everything. And it’s a lot, but I think that every detail is important because so often we overlook these little pieces of this whole overall narrative that actually really matter in the end. So I think—I know—that I can excel at this position. I know I’m the best agent for it. I know that I can give you the information you need because I know how to look for it. I think you’ll find that very few people can say that.”  
“Agent…Vivienne Donahue. Clearly your records from the STRIKE team in DC precede you. They’re very impressive. Could you please elaborate on why you are no longer with the team there?  
“Alright... I will admit that I made a very bad decision and became involved with a team member. I did, however, cut it off in order to maintain my effectiveness as an Agent of SHIELD. My career comes first. I wouldn’t even have the opportunity to have that problem in Ex. There’s no one around to even talk to and I know better than to make the same mistake twice.”  
“That’s good to hear. Director Fury made us aware of your skill set and though you had a tumultuous relationship with STRIKE, i think you will be a good edition to our extended recon team. We will be contacting you at some point over the next three days to assign you your first mission. During that time, you will be assigned your field equipment and we can begin to work on your payroll.”

 

DC had just begun to feel like home when Vivienne left, but California was immediately inviting. She had taken off in smoggy rain and had landed in the warm sun. It presented an entirely new perspective on things since all of her physical problems had mostly been left on the East coast. She had made the conscious choice when she left DC to leave most of her concern with HYDRA behind her, save the memory stick she had copied all of Brock's mission reports onto before deleting his folders off of his desktop. This meant two things: she could possibly pretend like she had been oblivious this whole time if SHIELD ever found out what she had and she still had leverage in case HYDRA thought she was going to tell anyone their secrets. At this point in time, Vivienne was just trying to keep her head low and start over in a new place.   
She didn't know what Brock would do after she confronted him, so she had planned her escape to California before the event so that she could leave immediately after. She had ditched her old phone and most of her belongings--she hadn't known how Brock had learned of her run-in with the agent she had killed in his house and she sure as hell didn't know how he would have even ended up dealing with the body...maybe HYDRA had connections to help with situations like that. Either way, she had made sure that he couldn't track her. She had a cheap motel room that she could leave at the drop of a hat if she needed to and she had a rental car that she was borrowing from a local rental agency.   
She just needed to get past all of this. 

Vivienne put her rental in park in front of the motel she was staying in and got out. California even smelled different, too. It was refreshing as hell.   
She let herself into her suite and shut the door, kicking off her shoes on her way to the bathroom. She had received her first mission earlier and she had just come back from her briefing. The nice thing about extended recon was that she was now a plainclothes agent and she could, for the most part, work on her own time. She would start her mission the next day after a hot shower and a much-needed full night of sleep.   
Vivienne pulled her clothes off on the way to the bathroom and stepped over the cool tiles, turning on the shower head. The water sputtered to life with a rusty complaint, but it was cool over her arm when it came out of the pipes and it felt good after the hot day. She straightened, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She wanted to believe that she looked different and she tried to find different things about her features that she could claim were a change, but it was getting harder to search her own tired eyes and find anything other than the same face that had stared back at her a week ago in Brock’s bathroom. Her eyes rested for a minute on each of her scars. they were all so different--some depressed into her skin, others puffy and discolored. She gazed at the circular one on her shoulder that had recently admitted itself to a story she had never wanted to believe. Funny how something she wanted to forget would be a part of her life forever.   
The steam slowly blotted out her shape in the glass and Vivienne surrendered to it, stepping into the shower before she could allow herself to drag her thoughts back to DC again. 

 

The water was cool and refreshing. She swam in it, feeling it move around her, shifting, caressing, lapping against her naked skin. She closed her eyes and sank down into it, existing in the dark abyss of this boundless pool alone. It was quiet and she could breathe in it, although she could still feel it over her face and even draining into her lungs when she breathed in. She thought that was strange and her survival instinct kicked in when she realized that she should need air to breathe. She reached up to pull herself to the surface, but the surface was no longer there. She opened her eyes. Everything was black. She kicked her legs and tried to swim to where she knew the surface should be, but it just wasn’t there. Then suddenly, the whole situation tipped sideways.   
Vivienne startled awake and rolled away instinctively from where her brain had told her there was danger. It was just mattress. Solid, broken-in mattress and a stuffy duvet cover. Vivienne rolled back over the mattress and beat a frustrated fist into the pillow beside her with an exasperated grunt. This had happened almost every night. She rolled over and looked at the clock. It was three a.m..  
She kicked off the cover, which was burning her up. the ceiling fan circled lazily above her, swinging a little. On every second swing, the two ornaments on the ends of the two chains knocked together. Vivienne pressed her palms over her eyes and breathed in deeply.   
She was awake now.  
She curled forward into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep at all now, so instead of wasting time, she decided to make the best use of her very early morning by starting her assignment.   
She walked over to the fake wooden desk that she had set her folder down on top of and flipped it open.   
The name of the assignment was typed out in bold at the top of the page. 

“The San Francisco Life Foundation”


	2. A Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne begins her new mission investigating the San Francisco Life Foundation. She travels to LA to give a report on the foundation before she can proceed any further and runs into someone she never thought she'd see again.

The San Francisco Life Foundation had always been a little too good at making their successes overly celebrated in the media, suspiciously nonspecific, and generously funded. The place smelled like a scam from all the way across the golden gate bridge, but no one could get close enough to the CEO to confront him without risking their career and reputation. After all, they were curing cancer and there was no crime in that. Wealthy contributors leapt at the opportunity for sponsorship so that they could have their names attached to the check when Carlton Drake finally managed to pin down the elusive cure. There were rumors about what actually went on inside the labs of the Life Foundation, but the evidence to back up claims was simply nowhere to be seen. The rumors mostly involved Drake abusing his hefty sponsorship funds toward curing cancer to instead dabble in his own personal projects which were whispered to involve human testing.  
Vivienne knew that this would be a long mission. Lots of recon, little action. It would be nothing like STRIKE. She wanted that to be a comforting thought, but the adrenaline rush of being in the chaos had always been appealing to her. That and she hated filing mission reports and this one needed to be updated daily.  
Vivienne found a decent spot to sit underneath the bridge where she could just see through the glass windows of the Life Foundation headquarters with her maximum strength field binoculars. She felt a little stalker-y, but she knew Drake was a slimeball and he needed to be pinned to the crime whatever the cost along the way. This was her new way of life. Everything every day for one mission until it was complete and SHIELD had sufficient evidence to convict these targets.   
It was a little lonely.   
After three hours of solid watching and recording where the security outposts were, the change in guard shifts, and the flow of foot traffic, Vivienne set down her binoculars and reached for her coffee. She hadn't slept, but apparently neither had the Life Foundation.   
Vivienne needed to get in there. She needed to get back to headquarters to set up an identity for herself before she could set foot in the fortress.   
She pulled out her field tablet and started to write the email request for the approval she would need to proceed further. As she logged into the system, the breeze from across the bay pushed up and over the surface of the water, coursing through her hair a little and trying its best to get through the thickness of her hoodie. She looked out across the water and the great expanse of it. She was a couple thousand miles away, but the bay reminded her of the waterway outside of the Triskelion. She had often taken her lunch breaks outside in DC, sitting near the water’s edge on the thick cement retaining wall. Sometimes Brock had joined her and those times had been another side of him that she hadn’t wanted to try to force out of her mind.   
Sometimes she found herself staring at her phone when she was heating up takeout leftovers in the motel microwave after work—those were the times he would send her a text while he was still working longer hours and she was home with the dogs. He would say sweet things. He didn’t have to do that.   
She signed the email and sent it, yanking herself back from her daydream before her heart remembered what it felt like to be with him. She didn’t need him and she was just fine on her own. What she lacked was simply some sense of closure, but that was never going to happen, so in the mean time she would try her best to think of other things. 

After two more grueling days of fieldwork and very little sleep, Vivienne tossed her laptop and work binder into her passenger seat and slammed the rental door shut, recoiling to keep the sloshing coffee in her cup from reaching the pantsuit she had just laundered the night before. She hated dressing like this, but she was making the long, long commute to LA to present what she had learned about the Life foundation. She had come into the LA SHIELD Facility with a not-so-great reputation and she needed to try to make up for that with over-preparedness. She assumed that also meant sweating in sharp black business attire. 

The Los Angeles SHIELD Facility had an entirely different aura about it than the facility in DC. The West wall was entirely open in hangar-style windows that flooded the clean floor with dry natural light. The people seemed happier—maybe that was just Vivienne’s perception. The walls were washed and white, as were most of the interior fixtures. The layout mostly stretched across the expanse of two floors. There were conveyor walkways that ensured people could still feasibly cover the distance they needed to in such a lengthy structure.   
When Vivienne finally stepped into the lobby of the Facility, she took a moment to sit at a table in the nearby coffee shop to go back over her mission report and presentation to make sure she had everything in order to present. She hadn’t really had to present anything to a board since her academy days and she wasn’t sure what exactly to expect from the real deal. She would have ordered herself a coffee, but she knew that would do nothing to calm her nerves.  
Time slipped away from her in a strange way—slowly at first and then racing away from her as she made her way to the conference room to get ready for her presentation. She glanced up at the room numbers as she walked briskly down the wide corridors, casting fleeting glances into the rooms to see if she could get some sort of sense from their occupants of whether or not she was going the right way. She turned around another corner, another part of the maze.  
Then someone spoke.   
His voice came from the inside of one of the rooms. The door was open to it and she could hear his voice coming from it. The words didn’t even matter. She hadn’t heard that voice since too long ago and she couldn’t help but to stop just to hear the sound of it again. The restraint of time told her she needed to go, but she knew that she needed just to look—just to make sure that she wasn’t actually going crazy before she met with this board of officials and that it was actually him.  
It was crazy just to care this much.  
Vivienne stood a little back from the door as she stepped lightly forward to give her a better view of the room’s occupants.  
He was sitting there, leaned forward, his finger pointed as he tried to explain something. His eyes were fixated on the board in front of them all until they met hers. It was just for the most fleeting of moments because Vivienne didn’t think she could hold that gaze. He had paused, but when she stepped again out of his sightline, he started to talk again, no hesitation, immediately back to the point.   
Vivienne walked slowly down the hall again. She looked at the numbers on the walls, but she wasn’t really seeing them.   
All she saw was the look in Clint’s eyes.

 

It felt like the presentation dragged, but what was intended to last forty-five minutes only lasted thirty. It didn’t seem like the board noticed or were ever upset at all at the early ending—it was around lunchtime and they were likely ready to leave the room to find something to eat. What Vivienne had thought might take a lot of convincing from the board to be granted an alias for the project turned out to not take a lot of convincing at all. Maybe she was just used to the hoops they had always had to jump through in the STRIKE team. The board granted her to proceed with the mission and they sent her information in the direction of the tech rec department to create a suitable identity for her to gain access to the LIFE foundation in person.   
Vivienne knew she should be feeling good about the success and about proceeding without anything holding her back from unearthing what she could from the Life Foundation, but she still found herself lingering on seeing Clint again—after everything.  
She stood still at the podium, gathering everything again into an orderly fashion and answering the light questions the board members had for her as they made their slow exit.   
“Vivienne.”  
Vivienne looked up in the direction of the door.   
Everything came racing back all at once like an ocean wave cresting and crashing and pushing her back …back into the last night she had seen him. The last night they had talked.  
And now, she heard him say her name as plain as day. Maybe it was the surprise of seeing her that had made him say it and maybe right now he was regretting having said anything at all.   
Clint stood in the door of the meeting room, not coming in or going out. Just standing. He looked good—healthy, rested—but there was another look on his face, too. Vivienne knew that seeing her had probably caused it.  
She also realized that the long silence in which they stared at one another had attracted the attention of most of the room. Conversation stopped.  
Vivienne found her voice. “Hey, Clint…It’s been a while.”

 

As soon as Vivienne had the opportunity, she left the room. Clint had been standing outside the door since she had told him to give her a couple of minutes to pack up what she had on the table. Now, she stepped out into the hallway and looked up at him.   
Clint pushed himself off of the wall when he saw her coming and he kept a restrained amount of space between them as they started to walk.   
“What are you doing here, Vivienne?”  
“It’s a really long story.”  
“Yeah?” He didn’t prod her further. Vivienne these were the measures he would take to make sure he wasn’t the least bit involved in her life again.  
“Yeah. I’ve left STRIKE and I’m working for Ex now.”  
“Extended Recon is a big change. Very different.”  
Vivienne sighed. “You’re telling me. The paperwork is monotonous and I do miss the feeling of being out there doing everything.”  
She waited for him to ask what happened, but he didn’t. She needed to remember that they had left on different terms from one another that night.   
Clint was quiet for a minute. They walked toward the elevator together. It was strange being together with him again in a strange place. She hadn’t known if she would ever see him again when he left and yet here they were.  
Clint pushed the button. “How long are you staying in California?”  
Vivienne shrugged. “I don’t know.”  
“But you’re just here for the duration of your mission?”  
“I don’t know.”  
The elevator doors opened. They stepped inside.  
There was another long silence.   
“I think we need to talk.” The words surprised Vivienne when they left her lips.  
“I know.”  
“I didn’t want everything to end so badly between us, Clint.”  
“Me neither.”  
Vivienne looked over at him. “Then why did you go? It was… It was just really hard.”  
Clint met her gaze. “What I did was hard, too, Vivienne. But listen, I didn’t want you to ever think that you weren’t important to me if nothing ever happened either…”  
“I know,” said Vivienne. “I think you just caught me by surprise…The timing was bad.”  
“When is it ever good for either of us?”  
“Yeah,” said Vivienne. “I get that.”  
“I needed to leave.”  
“I know. And I’m sorry.”  
The elevator doors dinged and they stepped out into the downstairs lobby of the SHIELD facility. The California sun was shining in beams down through the skylights far above them, basking the tile in clean light.   
Vivienne started to go one way and Clint the other. When they realized that it was time to part, they stopped.   
“Where are you staying?” asked Clint.  
“I don’t really know. I packed up from my motel in San Francisco since paperwork is going to take a little while to get through and I made reservations at this place on east tenth here in LA...”  
Cline rubbed the back of his neck. “If you need somewhere better to stay, Vivienne—“  
“Do you really think that would be a good idea?”  
Clint searched her eyes. “I was going to say that I could recommend a good short term leasing complex…”  
Vivienne felt her cheeks flush. “OK. I’ll keep that in mind.” The look on his face said everything. “I have to go, Clint.”  
“Ok.”  
Vivienne felt a knot rise toward her throat from her chest as she feigned a lighthearted salute, turning to walk away from him and back out into the warming California afternoon.


	3. From Such Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rifts in friendships that had once been so deep and coping mechanisms that seem less healthy. Surely the nostalgia of better times can't affect people forever.

It came as no surprise to Vivienne, as she stood at the front desk of her new motel, that she had clearly picked one of the shittiest places in LA. There was a trash can standing by the front door that was stuffed with what appeared to be used diapers and the desk clerk had just informed her that the AC unit had gone out on the right side of the strip of rooms of the motel, one of which had been reserved for Vivienne. Apparently the left side was all booked, though there weren’t many cars in the parking lot. Vivienne took her key from the clerk when he handed it to her and tried to hide her disgust when something dark on it stuck to her palm. She held her breath and walked out the door, holding her key with the very tips of her fingers.   
The room had probably once been charming. Peeling wallpaper in the corners of the room revealed the terrible green that had been on the walls back when they likely remodeled in the seventies, but no touch ups seemed to have been done since then, save the microwave that seemed like it had also seen better days.   
Vivienne tossed her suitcase onto her bed and locked up again to go out to look for a fan that might help her get through the night. 

 

 

Brock took a long hard draw from his whiskey and set his glass down a little harder than he had intended to. His depth perception was a little off, probably because of the first two drinks he had already finished. He knew that showing up to court the next day hungover wouldn’t help his case, but the courtroom would be rigged anyways, so who the hell cared how he presented himself? He would get off with a suspension and a demotion. He threw back the remainder of what was in his glass and grimaced, pushing away the empty.   
He propped himself up on the bar with his elbows, pushing his fingers through his hair to help distract him from the time that it took for the bartender to give him a refill, help distract him from the little signals here and there that went on between Rollins and Cooper. They thought they were being discreet and it just made Brock mad. Mad that he couldn’t get whatever the hell he wanted.   
The team had proposed that they take a trip to the Split Keg and he hadn’t objected. He had needed a drink and it looked better to do it in company than to go home alone and wake up like he had the morning before on the carpet of the living room with the dogs licking his ankles. That, and in light of the most recent events, the team had lost some faith in their long time leader. It wasn’t unknown that there was a rift that was in need of mending between him and Jack, who had always been a unified force when it came to carrying out insight’s tasks. He knew what the team was capable of and how they could achieve what they needed to, but Jack was his connection to the men and though his relationship with Vivienne was over and she may even be six feet under by now, he still hadn’t had the opportunity to make things better with the only man he had ever considered a friend.   
It didn’t help that Cooper was bending his ear.   
He and the Texan had never particularly gotten along.  
The bartended pushed another glass his way and the dark amber liquid spilled a little over the rim in the motion. Brock grabbed the glass and straightened a little when he felt the alcohol start sinking deeper. He smoothed his shirt and turned around on the barstool to look over all of the people that were in the bar. No faces that he recognized. That was good.  
“Hey there.”  
Brock looked up into the eyes of one of the hookers who frequented the place. He knew her face and he knew that she had been here a long time but they had probably spoken no more than two sentences in the last eight years that he had been going there.   
She pulled up the straps on her bra and tilted her head to the side. “Where’s your little blonde girlfriend?”  
“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” Brock said. “Never was.”   
He waited for her to leave, but she stayed. “Could’ve fooled me.”  
Brock sighed and tried to look away from the see-through threading of the woman’s tank top. He felt her hand splay over his chest, her acrylic nails catching a little on the cloth of his shirt.   
“You feel like you’re hiding the body of a goddamn greek god under this.”  
“Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” He shook his head and took another deep pull from his drink. “Fuckin’ uninspired.”  
“Damn. Ok. Well do you wanna dance?”  
Brock squinted at her. “Does it look like I wanna fuckin’ dance?”  
“Hey—”  
Brock looked over at Cooper, who had seemed to finally notice that there was more going on in the room than the man sitting on the other side of him.   
“Have some goddamn respect.” Said Cooper. “Ain’t her fault you’re in a shitty place.”  
Brock closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get off my ass, Cooper. You don’t know the fucking half of it so leave me the fuck alone.”  
The hooker had been standing there for the exchange, but now it seemed like she wanted to make her exit.   
“I’m going.”  
“No, wait—“ Brock reached out and grabbed her wrist.  
She looked down at him, much less friendly than before.   
“I’m sorry. I was being a prick. Let me buy you a drink.”  
The woman looked around warily before she slowly slid into the stool beside Brock. She kept a watchful gaze on him the whole time.  
Brock ordered her a drink and waited for her to take a draw before he even attempted conversation again.   
He supposed she was pretty with her dark eyes and dark hair. Her lips were painted for the evening and they left a red ring on the glass when she finally set it down. She looked over at him.   
“What’s your deal?”  
“What do you want me to call you?”  
“Sinnamon. You gonna answer my question?”  
Brock grinned with a scoff. “Cinnamon? Like the spice?”  
“There’s an ‘S’.”  
Brock squinted at her with a smile. “Hmm.”  
Sinnamon was waiting for him to continue and answer her question. When the silence got a little long and Brock’s eyes lingered a little uncomfortably over her, she looked away and took a drink.   
“That girl you saw me with last…” He said finally. “We’re not a thing. We’re not.”  
“I gotcha. Well how long has it been?”  
“Since what?”  
“Since you got laid?”

Brock felt a bead of sweat drip down from his neck and then ride down the divot at the base of his sternum. He breathed hard and his hair was all down around his eyes with perspiration. He grabbed Sinnamon’s hips and pushed hard into her again and again, feeling himself slip a little into a frenzy as he tried to take persuade his body to just release, but it was easier said than done. It had seemed like he had been doing this for too long. He squeezed his eyes shut as she reached back to interlace her fingers with his as they pressed hard into her soft skin.   
“Unh-harder,” crooned Sinnamon.  
It was the wrong voice. Brock clenched his teeth and hissed, “Can you just shut up?”  
He heard her mutter, but he was trying to tune her out for the sake of finishing.   
Vivienne groaned in his head, succumbing to the feel of him inside her. He leaned over her, his chest pressing to her back as his strokes slowed and became deeper and more practiced and passionate. They moved together fluidly. They just fit. He tried to stifle his groan, but she felt so good. He released, a hot shock coursing through him and lifting the hairs on the back of his neck with the sensation.   
He pulled out and opened his eyes. He was back in the hotel room with the hooker he had picked up from the split keg. He was a little fuzzy on how everything had eventually let to this, but the spinning of his vision told him that it was unlikely he would have been able to make sense of most of what had gone down up until then.  
“Wow,” said Sinnamon. “That quite the fucking transition in the end.”  
Brock took a steadying breath and stepped back and off of the mattress. His head spun a little as he looked around for the bathroom. The light that was coming from underneath the door in the corner of the room gave it away and he went toward it, shutting himself inside. He felt like he might actually vomit, a rarity for him. He gazed up into the mirror. He looked just as shitty as he felt. He pulled off the condom and threw it in the trash before going over to the shower to turn on the water. 

 

Vivienne woke up soaked in sweat. Her sheets stuck to her as she rolled away from where she had been laying and she tried to move onto her stomach to let her back have a chance to catch the meager breeze that the box fan offered. It was a futile move and now that she was awake, she was suddenly completely aware of how uncomfortable she was. She pulled off the covers and lay spread eagle on the bare mattress, staring up at the ceiling. It was funny how everything, all of her worries, liked to prey on her at strange times like this. Thoughts of what she left in DC and the nightmares of what she was running away from crawled back over the pillows and into her head. Thoughts she wouldn’t have let herself dwell on in the day.   
She saw faces of the people she had killed, nothing she had ever thought she might ever care to re-conjure. But now that she knew the truth, she wondered how many were innocents and at what point she had crossed the distinct line between STRIKE agent and serial killer. Not knowing where she stood morally scared her and she didn’t like to think that she had played the system to escape conviction. That wasn’t the only reason she had left STRIKE when she did. There were others, too.  
Vivienne tried to steady her breathing when she realized that her heart had begun to beat faster. It happened when she thought of every time she had submitted her bloody uniform to launder when STRIKE came back from a mission. Whose blood was it really?  
She wondered if any of that had been worth it. It seemed strange to try to look back on some of her time with STRIKE with some sense of nostalgia, but she did miss that rush. She missed Cooper, who had more often than not had her back. She missed their trips to the bar that ended with drunken laughing at inside jokes—the only time the STRIKE team could allow themselves to be the people and friends that they had the potential of being. She missed rainy days sitting by the big windows in Brock’s living room listening to his records and sipping the rich dark coffee that he had imported. He had always been so extra.   
Vivienne reached for her phone and unlocked the screen. It was new and his number wasn’t even saved into the contacts. She didn’t even know what she would do if it was there. Stare at it probably. She wondered how a conversation would go…  
It wouldn’t.  
She needed to remember the relationship as a timeline and not some conglomeration of all of their best and worst times together separated into compartments. It all went hand-in-hand and he was the same person in all of it. She needed to remind herself..  
She gazed at the time on the face of her phone. It was only four in the morning, but she was awake enough now that she couldn’t go back to sleep.   
Vivienne got up and dressed. She pulled a brush through her tangled hair, which was starting to grow out a little from how short she had kept it for the majority of her time on STRIKE. She pulled back the longer top locks of hair and settled it with bobby pins. She dabbed some concealer under her eyes to cover her lack of rest, but didn’t bother with much else before she grabbed her keys from the desk beside the door. 

Vivienne walked through the lobby of the LA SHIELD facility, joined only by the morning’s earliest occupants, who mostly beelined for the coffee shop that was in the far corner of the lobby. Vivienne split away from the group and made her way toward the recon department. They would likely have her alias ready and she was eager to study up on the persona she would need to adopt before setting foot in the Life Foundation. It was all exciting. She supposed there was a rush to this, too—the anticipation of being able to hide in plain sight of a potential target instead of killing them on site.   
Vivienne walked up to the glass in front of the service desk. A young agent, probably fresh out of the academy, looked up at her and smiled.   
“Hi are you here for your assignment?”  
“Yes.” Vivienne leaned on the desk a little. Her fatigue had begun to catch up to her even though she had gotten coffee during her drive there.   
“Name?”  
“Agent Vivienne M Donahue.”  
“Agent passcode?”  
“Str—I mean—Extended Recon Beta five six zero five five two.”  
“Okay,” he typed in her passcode and then clicked again. “Mission?”  
“San Francisco Life Foundation.”  
“Oh wow,” the agent behind the desk looked up at her in admiration. “You must have some good credentials to get you that. What a mess that place must be.”  
“Yeah,” said Vivienne. “So I’ve heard. Have you been working at this location long?”  
The young agent smiled. Usually the younger ones were much nicer than the hardened agents who lurked about in the hallways. “Is it my face that gives me away?” He laughed. “I just graduated from the SHIELD Academy of Los Angeles last year.”  
“Nice!” Said Vivienne. “I graduated from the SHIELD Academy of Operations a little over four years ago.”  
“Very cool. I heard that’s hard to get into.”  
“It was harder to graduate from,” said Vivienne. “Most stressful years of my life.”  
“Well Vivienne,” said the agent. “It seems to have paid off. Here’s your alias assignment.” He passed her a jump drive. “Anything you think might tip them off, you let us know and we’ll correct the history. You know your target better than we do. You can pick up your threads in the next office down. They’ll have a zipper bag for your clothing and whatever else they’ve assigned you. They’ll also give you all of the gear you need there.”  
“Perfect.”  
“It was nice to meet you, Vivienne.”  
Vivienne smiled. “You, too…?”  
“Jay Corbin.”  
“Jay. Nice meeting you and thanks.”


	4. Guilty as Charged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pre-determined verdict, a guilty plea, and change rolling in like a storm.

DC was cloudy and sullen as usual at this time of year. A breeze blew from far out over the water as Steve dismounted his motorcycle outside of the Triskelion. He checked his messages and found one he had missed from Cassidy the day before.   
“Congrats on the Promotion!”  
As soon as she had met with Fury following the rigorous combing of all of Agent Rumlow’s documents, she had left to go and debrief again at the OBSIDIAN headquarters. The news came two days later: Steve was called up to Secretary Pierce’s office and Director Fury stood by as Pierce made him the new head of the STRIKE team, pending the results of the hearing that they were holding today for Agent Rumlow. Steve had yet to find out what came from the searching of Rumlow’s computers and yet to see the team again face to face after being made the new head.   
He knew Rumlow would be pissed.  
He waited, but not for long before the familiar car pulled up beside his bike and Agent Cassidy Bradshaw emerged.   
“Cass,” greeted Steve when she shut the door. “Hopefully the drive wasn’t too bad.”  
“Oh, you know, I ran over the occasional pedestrian.” Cassidy walked around her car and joined him as they started to walk toward the doors.   
“I didn’t get to talk to you before you left. Did you end up finding anything we can use on Rumlow’s computer?”  
“I don’t know,” said Cassidy. “Halfway through one of Pierce’s guys came in and told me that since I’m a witness, I can’t have direct access to anything else that belongs to him so that my judgment of him isn’t skewed. As if it’s not already,” Cassidy chuckled. “Doubt finding some secret porn is going to change my mind.”  
Steve shook his head. “This is going to be fun.”  
They walked through the Triskelion, but instead of walking toward the STRIKE training gym, they turned left toward the SHIELD courtroom.   
There was already a gathering of people outside—officials, agents, curious parties who had likely heard rumors. Natasha Romanov was sitting on a chair by the window. Steve hadn’t seen her in almost a year. She was like a ghost, coming in and out of existence and acting like she had been there the whole time so as to dissuade questions about where she had been. She noticed them as they came up to her and stood slowly, closing the last bit of distance between her and them.  
“Steve Rogers, don’t you look all fancy?” She tugged playfully at the sleeve of his dress shirt.  
“Nice to see you again, Nat. It’s been quiet without you on the team.”  
“I bet Tony misses me.”  
“No one can put him down like you can.”  
Natasha smiled. “Well I’ve heard that everyone else is everywhere else doing other things. Not much time to cater to the beck and call of our little prince.”  
“You're right. I heard Clint is in California and I don't think Thor has even been in in the same realm.”  
Natasha looked at Cassidy. “Hi. I'm Natasha Romanov.”  
Cassidy nodded. “I know. I'm a liason between SHIELD and OBSIDIAN so I have to do my homework on everyone over here. Your name and face have come up a few times,” Cassidy offered her hand. “And I just realized how rude I sound. I'm Agent Cassidy Bradshaw.”  
“Cassidy nice to meet you and good to know. I'll have to talk to Nick about having my face removed from all of our files...It's a dangerous job we work and we can never be too careful, can we?”  
The doors to the courtroom opened and Cassidy patted Steve on the arm. “I'm going to go find Director Fury and then I'll catch up with you. Save me a seat, would you?”  
“Sure.” Steve watched her go.  
“She's nice,” Natasha said, stressing the adjective she had picked to try to stretch it beyond its ordinary meaning.   
Steve raised his eyebrows. “She is.”  
“You should ask her to dinner.”  
“I work with her, Nat. I'm not trying to dig myself into the same hole Rumlow did.”  
“Oh please,” said Natasha. “She's a liason, not your subordinate and you would have to be double-timing SHIELD with mercenary contracts. I haven’t caught you doing that yet and I feel like I would be the first to know.” She looked around. “So is Agent Donahue here or did she try to skip out? Doesn't she need to testify?”  
“Technically she doesn't need to since she never pressed any charges, but you would think she would to show some good faith.”  
“Hm. She seemed nice when I met her all that time ago, but I've heard lots of stuff since then.”  
“I've seen a lot since then, but Clint seemed to have trusted her, so who knows.”  
“Clint tells everyone he's not a trusting guy,” said Nat with a laugh. “Anyways. Should be an interesting adventure with the STRIKE team coming up. I thought I was going to Colombia, but then I found out I was going to have more of a stay-cation this time. Fun.”  
“Yeah,” said Steve. “When I said I wanted to get more involved with SHIELD again, this is not what I meant. Clearly Fury and Pierce have other ideas.”  
“Maybe it'll be fun.”  
Steve gave her a look and nodded toward the courtroom. “We'll see how this all goes down and then we can decide how fun it’s going to be from here on out. Let's go in.”

 

The morning hadn't been kind. Brock didn't know how he had found his way home the night before--the stripper had done the complete opposite of taking his mind off of everything. He had broken the seal on another bottle of whiskey and apparently had brought it to bed. What he hadn't drunk had spread into a large puddle over the hardwood floor. The bottle had tipped from its precarious perch at some point in the earliest hours of the morning. At least it hadn't shattered.   
He probably wouldn’t have gotten up had the dogs not started barking. Rollins had been on the other side of the door when he had opened it.  
Their eyes met, Jack took all of his hard gaze in, and he knew he should explain. “I know it hasn't been all roses between us.”  
“Yeah.” It was a short affirmation.  
“I'm here to help.”  
“Why should I need your help now? I haven't needed it in a while. You haven't offered it since Cooper joined the team.”  
“I don't wanna talk about that.”  
Brock scoffed. “It's the last thing I would wanna ask you about.”  
“I know you're going through it right now, Brock.”  
“Why are you here?”  
“Your hearing starts in an hour and I saw you with that hooker last night. I knew if you pulled something like that maybe you were worse off than I thought.”  
Brock looked at him warily. It seemed like he was trying to apologize without saying sorry. Typical. But also familiar.  
“Also, you look like shit.”

 

 

Now Brock sat behind a desk in the front of the courtroom. He had briefly talked to the lawyer Pierce had hired, but they both knew the drill. The hearing would start, the ‘evidence’ would be produced, they would demote him, there would be a suspension, and that was it. He was likely to fail to reach his previous rank before Insight was scheduled to take place. It was a fucking shame. He had put more than his own blood, sweat, and tears into all of this. He had put everything in and this was how it would repay him. He wished that he was innocent of having made this his own fate, but it was much too late for that and he had spent the better portion of his life lying to himself. The charade was getting old.   
Maybe this demotion would be a good thing. Maybe the burden would lessen and he could refocus. He was in desperate need of a breather.   
He also knew that since his mother’s death all of that time ago, since bouncing from foster to foster and then the academy, he had never felt so driven toward a particular cause until HYDRA found him, offered him the opportunity to rid the world of killers like his father. Bring balance. And now he had let them down. He had slipped up and for the first time in decades, he had taken a step backward.  
No, now wasn’t the time to breathe. Now was the time to try harder than ever to zero in on the goal and to offer everything he had. He should be grateful that they were giving him a second chance like this.   
He looked up when he heard the doors at the end of the room behind him open. His headache pushed dully behind his eyes, but he kept them open, gazing hard at the wall at the head of the room.  
People filtered in, found their seats, speaking in hushed tones. The Justice hadn’t arrived yet, but the case was dire and snippets of opinions flitted in and out of audibility. Brock chose not to hear any of it. It didn’t matter.   
He sensed movement at the desk across the aisle, but didn’t look over. He could head Agent Bradshaw’s voice as she talked with someone. Probably a lawyer.  
“I’ve gone head to head with this guy before.”  
Brock looked over at his lawyer that Pierce had appointed him. The guy was probably a little older than he was, greying hair, hard, dark eyes. He was looking over at the opposing desk.   
Brock finally looked over toward their plaintiff. He stood talking with Bradshaw.   
“And?”  
There was a hesitation from his attorney that caused him enough concern to look back at him.  
“Well I lost the case, but there was a great deal of evidence against my charge.”  
Brock closed his eyes and breathed deeply.   
A door opened at the head of the chamber and the Justice walked out. The jury filed in from another door and took their places at the side of the court. The Bailiff stood.  
“All rise.”  
Everyone silenced and stood. The Judge took a seat and looked out across the crowd, his gaze resting on Bradshaw’s party and then on Brock’s. Everyone waited.   
“Department one of the Superior SHIELD Court of Justice is now in session. Judge Hale presiding. Please be seated.”  
The Judge’s eyes finally left Brock’s and he looked up at the people. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Calling the case of SHIELD versus acting Agent Brock Rumlow. Are both sides prepared?”  
Brock’s defender spoke up. “Ready for the defense your Honor.”  
Justice Hale looked across at the clerk. “Will the clerk swear in the jury?”  
As the Jury was being sworn in, Brock could feel his heart rate rise a little. He knew how this was supposed to go. Pierce would have made sure that he couldn’t lose this case more than necessary. It had to look good, but there was nothing they could do about how the jurors were selected. They could be a potential liability. That, and his attorney that had apparently lost to their opposing plaintiff before.   
The man beside Bradshaw stood. “Your Honor and ladies and gentlemen on the jury: the defendant has been charged with the unlawful severance from the SHIELD code in operating outside of SHIELD by participating in mercenary contracts and also in the infraction against the SHIELD code of conduct in a case of sexual misconduct with a direct subordinate. The evidence will show that a document extracted from the defendant’s computer proves the defendant has participated in a mercenary contract. This will include a date and a discrepancy between that report and what was officially filed in the SHIELD database on that same date. In the case of sexual misconduct, provided a not guilty plea is involved, a direct witness to the misconduct between Superior officer Agent Brock Rumlow and his direct subordinate, Agent Vivienne Donahue will be called to the stand to testify.”   
The Justice spoke up. “Agent Brock Rumlow, on the accusation that you participated in the acceptance and follow through of mercenary contracts outside of SHIELD, how do you plea?”  
Brock looked up at him. “Not guilty.”   
Brock knew his attorney stood after the opposition seated. He knew he said what had been prepared before this moment, but he couldn’t focus on a single word that came out of the guy’s mouth. He focused instead on all of the wood grains in the desk in front of him. He didn’t look at the jury in case one of them might somehow be able to see through this ruse. He didn’t look at the Justice, as he had been advised beforehand that he shouldn’t meet his gaze. This would help focus on his shame for the sexual misconduct over the defiance against the ‘mercenary contracting’.   
He tried to think of how to proceed after this. How to best make use of a potential suspension and how to best come back from this in the eyes of his men. He knew whatever might help him regain any trust wouldn’t be easy.   
The case proceeded on without him really mentally there until the evidence was produced to the jury from his mission in Cambodia. The first quarter of the report was provided as a hard copy to each of the jury members. Then, another copy was passed to their desk and a last to Bradshaw and her attorney. There was a silence as they were allowed to examine what had been provided. Brock leaned forward and pulled the sheet closer to him.  
“Are you serious?” He heard Bradshaw whisper sharply.  
The report was definitely the same that he had filed for HYDRA, but many of the details had been tampered with somewhere between his office and the courtroom. It no longer served as a close match to what he had filed for SHIELD, but instead excluded pieces of the mission that might have tied HYDRA to it and filled it, instead, with a fake agenda toward a potential outside contractor. It was well-written and Brock had to mentally give kudos to whomever had doctored it up as a stand in for himself.   
“This is not the same report!”   
Brock and his attorney looked over at Bradshaw. The Justice sustained the outburst.   
“The one originally obtained included pieces of evidence involving the derailment of--”  
“Objection!” Brock’s attorney spoke up.   
“Sustained.”  
“Evidence gathered by officials of the law only is presented here, is it not?”  
“It is.”  
“May I venture to ask how Agent Bradshaw might have come across it previously?”  
“You may.” The Judge looked over expectantly at Bradshaw.  
Bradshaw looked up at him, over at Brock’s attorney, and then back at the judge. “Evidence was obtained from the defendant’s company computer.”  
“--By hacking into it--” added Brock’s attorney.  
“Objection!” said Bradshaw’s partner.  
“Overruled.”  
“The plaintiff would have had to hack into my client’s company computer to obtain evidence she claims to have seen.”  
“I was investigating a lead I was following!”  
“You were investigating, as a SHIELD official Investigating officer, my client’s computer?”  
“I--No. I have a liaison contract with SHIELD--”  
“So you’re saying that you, an outside party from SHIELD, hacked into an official company computer--”  
“Need I define the terms of being a liaison?”  
“No,” Brock’s attorney let a mirthless chuckle out. “You do not, Agent Bradshaw. I understand that you work with SHIELD, but have no power to act for it, therefore, you would be considered an outside agent hacking into a private company’s database. That’s an offense SHIELD takes very seriously.”  
Brock locked eyes with Bradhsaw in that moment and he couldn’t help but smile a little at her lack of words and fiery look in her eyes. She knew talking any further might dig her in a deeper hole. He was definitely still in a bad place, but now he had dragged her down, too.   
There was a silence before the Judge found some footing and looked across at the jury. “Does the jury have any questions for the defense?”  
“I do.” One of the jurors spoke up. He was a middle aged man with thick lenses. “What has been provided to us in a copy of what appears to be a report filed for the purpose of turning in to a mercenary employer. Are there more incidents in which you have taken mercenary contracts outside of SHIELD for which reports have not been accounted?”  
Brock leaned forward a little. “No.”  
“Oh please!” Bradshaw muttered.   
“I think the plaintiff’s emotional connection to this case is causing disruption,” said Brock’s attorney smoothly.   
The Judge sighed and looked back at the jury. “Any further questions?”  
There was silence.   
“Moving on to the matter of sexual misconduct between Agent Rumlow and his Subordinate, Agent Vivienne Donahue. Agent Rumlow, how do you plea?”  
Brock took a long breath and let it out slowly. He glanced over at Bradshaw’s group and then back toward where Steve Rogers sat behind them. There was something satisfying in the look of disbelief and irritation on Steve’s face.   
“Guilty.” He couldn’t stop the smug smirk from beginning to twitch over his lips. Rogers wouldn’t be taking the stand today.   
Brock’s attorney spoke up. “Actions are being taken to correct the problem, which has been addressed already. Agent Donahue no longer works with STRIKE and Agent Brock Rumlow has agreed to step down as acting leader of the SHIELD STRIKE team.”  
The Judge raised his eyebrows, but there wasn’t really anything Brock could have done to prove himself innocent when he had a witness with the reputation that his particular witness had.   
“In the matter of sexual misconduct, you have pled guilty and so the court finds you as such,” said Justice Hale. “In the matter of taking mercenary contracts, you have pled not guilty. After collecting the jury’s votes, this court has found Agent Brock Rumlow guilty of one incident involving the taking of an outside contract. After receiving previous information from the board of SHIELD Ranking Officials on how they would handle the situation if this particular defendant was found guilty, Agent Brock Rumlow, you are sentenced to a probationary suspension up to four weeks without pay, a fine in the amount received for the mercenary contract, a permanent mark on your official record, and the addition of a monitor to all of your company tech equipment, including but not limited to your desktop, tablet, and monitoring of your swipe card access.”  
Brock breathed a sigh of relief. He could hear Bradshaw talking angrily with her partner. She was pissed. She couldn’t pin him this time.   
“Once this court is adjourned, Agent Rumlow, you will have two hours to remove your personal belongings from your office space before your suspension begins.”

 

“Fuck this!”  
“I know.”  
Bradshaw was walking a little ahead of Steve and he quickened his pace to keep up with her. She was livid about how everything had gone down in the courtroom and Steve didn’t blame her. It shouldn’t have been such an easy trial. Something didn’t seem right about the whole thing—the trial was too short, too easy. The sentence was too light and everyone in the courtroom knew it.  
Upon seeing Cassidy’s face, Steve had suggested that they talk over lunch until they could come up with a way to spin this to their advantage. Surely something good could come out of this? Rumlow was no longer the head of the STRIKE team. Although it wasn’t the harshest sentence, it was still a significant win. He was also going to be absent from the Triskelion for a month, which might give them ample time to really dig this time.   
They pushed through the doors into the parking lot and walked out. The clouds had parted a little and the sun was coming through hotly down onto the pavement.   
Bradshaw fumbled for her keys as they drew closer to their vehicles. “Why even bother trying so fucking hard to catch these motherfuckers in the act if they are just going to get thrown right back into the pond to swim free? All of that effort—“  
“I know. It’s not right,” said Steve. “And this is definitely not the way that I saw this going either, but there’s not much we can do about it at this point.”  
“Ok, Cap. You need to let me be mad about this a little longer before you hit me with the ‘glass half full’ thing. I can feel it coming, so just don’t for now.”  
Steve reached into his pocket for his keys too, and walked towards where his bike was parked beside Cassidy’s car. “Hey—“  
Cassidy looked over the hood at him. “What.”  
“I’m angry, too. I’m not trying to dismiss this, but we need something to rant about over lunch, so take a moment to take a breath, Cass.”  
“You saw his face.”  
“I saw.”  
Cassidy shook her head. “What a joke.”  
“Want a ride?”  
Cassidy looked over at him. “Ha. On your bike?”  
Steve tilted his head to the side a little with a squint.  
“It’s been like six years since I’ve been on the back of a motorcycle.”  
“Sounds like you’re due.” Steve nodded to the back of his bike. “Come on. The fresh air will be good.”  
Cassidy tried not to smile since she was supposed to be mad, but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. She locked her car again and circled around toward Steve. They didn’t say anything else while she swung her leg over the back, he started the bike, and she slid hesitant hands over his sides.


	5. City of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was only a matter of time before DC caught up to Vivienne, sending out their most ruthless dogs to pick up her trail. The city of angels may not have been the safe haven Vivienne had been hoping for, but the task team from the East weren't alone when they came knocking on her door.

Vivienne reached over toward her cupholder and slowly pulled her coke slushee from where it was nestled there. Her eyes remained locked on her rearview mirror. She had seen the black expedition before, parked back in the shady spot four cars down from her in the parking lot of the LA SHIELD Headquarters. She wouldn’t have taken notice of it had it not pulled out when she was backing up. It had then aroused her attention when it took the same route as her onto the interstate, but kept a distance between her car and theirs. It was the setup for a typical tail and Vivienne recognized it immediately. These things were rarely coincidences.   
She had pulled off the interstate at the next exit and so had the expedition. The clerk at the counter of the gas station had tried to make friendly small talk with her as he rang up her slushee, but she had been preoccupied watching the SUV pull into the parking lot of the UPS store across the street. As she walked back to her car, she tried not to look at them. They probably didn’t know that she had spotted them, so she took her time, filled up her tank, and slid back behind the wheel to scope out the situation from the cover of her car.   
The slushee, as it turned out, hadn’t actually been a bad idea. She was roasting in her car with the engine off.   
So far, she could tell that there were at least two men in the car. Neither of them got out after they had parked. Definitely a dead giveaway.  
It actually didn’t surprise Vivienne that this was happening. She had expected for someone to eventually catch up to her, even after her hotel switches and destroying her last phone. It was tough, though, to maintain a job and keep a low profile. Of course they would find her at SHIELD. She had never had the opportunity to properly say goodbye to STRIKE, but she knew that they wouldn’t have let her get away knowing what she did that easily.   
She sipped her drink and wondered if Rumlow had any part in this. Hell, he had probably sent the men himself.   
She pushed the key into the ignition again and turned it, slowly backing out of her spot and watching to see if they would do the same. They waited. Vivienne slowly shifted into drive and waited until the light at the nearby intersection turned green. As soon as a fairly thick current of cars began to pass in the road between them, Vivienne accelerated a little and pulled around the back of the building toward the exit onto a residential street. The SUV’s reverse lights came on. As soon as the SUV was out of view, she pushed her pedal down and swerved onto the road, accelerating probably a little more than she needed to as she followed it back toward where the flow of traffic climbed back up onto a ramp toward the interstate. She pulled hard into a grocery store parking lot and hurriedly threw her car into park in a spot where she could watch the entrance ramp. She sank low into her seat and waited for her company to come.   
They didn’t disappoint her.   
The black SUV came barreling down the residential street from where she had left the gas station and blew through a stop sign, cutting off a minivan. The mini laid on its horn, but the Expedition was long gone, climbing the ramp fast back onto the interstate.   
Vivienne waited a minute longer and then followed suit, scanning her surroundings cautiously before getting back onto the highway. 

As soon as Vivienne got back to the motel, she parked around the back and then got out with a bag of fast food. She walked around to her room and went in quickly, sliding the deadbolt and lifting one of the ribs of the blinds up to peek through. The parking lot was quiet.   
She allowed herself to calm down a little, but she knew that if these men were anything like the STRIKE team, they weren’t going to give up and they would find her. She needed to be ready.   
Vivienne went over to her bed and tipped her Burger King bag upside down. A glock fell out onto the duvet cover. The glock Brock had given her all of that time ago—it had come in handy since.   
Vivienne grabbed it and slid it into the back of her pants as she walked over to her dufflebag. She yanked the bag up from the floor and tossed it onto the bed, unzipping it to expose an array of weapons and gear. She may have taken a few things when she left..  
She pulled her vest out from under all of it and shook out of the sleeves from her work attire, donning the protective gear over her tank top and work pants. She strapped on her holster and re-homed her glock before grabbing her bowie and zipping the bag shut again. She dragged her chair away from the window and back against the far wall, diagonal to the door—a good vantage point.   
She knew that it would be near impossible for her to take on two STRIKE-level men, let alone more if there happened to have been more guys on her tail. She had to work whatever advantages she could.   
Vivienne cautiously went back over to the window after a minute and peered through the blinds again. The parking lot was still empty, but she knew better than to assume. When she was satisfied with the lack of what she saw, she went back over toward the chair and sat. She really didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t hide.  
Vivienne waited for a long time. The first thirty minutes were tense—she was ready for anything and sat on the edge of her chair with her hand by her holstered side for easy access. The second thirty were less heightened. Her tensed muscles reminded her how sore they were with the occasional ache in her legs and tingling at the tips of her fingers. She shifted positions a little, but didn’t want to sacrifice her optimum vantage point.   
Somewhere into the second hour her phone rang. Vivienne jumped a little at the sudden sound of it. She pulled it out of her back pocket and glanced at the face.   
Unknown caller.  
Vivienne tensed and pulled her gun out if its holster. She waited until the ringing was done with baited breath. Nothing happened. A few minutes passed, and then her phone rang again. It was the same unknown number. Vivienne’s heart raced. This was a really shitty game.   
It had gotten dark outside while she had been sitting in her room and as the sun sank below the skyline, the lamps outside her blinds came on. The cheap plastic glowed brighter the later it got and the more prominent the lamplight became.   
The unknown number called her another time, but Vivienne still didn’t answer. She switched her phone to silent and reduced the room to still, quiet darkness. It would have been better if she could have had some air circulating, but turning on the box fan could potentially alert someone to her being in the room and it was too loud to hear what might be going on outside. Sweat rolled down over Vivienne’s brow and she began to wonder if this was just stupid, sitting here in the dark.   
Then, the face of her phone lit up silently from where she had set it on the floor. She craned her neck to glance at the glowing screen and as she did, a shadow passed across her blinds from outside the window. Then another one. She watched the doorknob as it winked a little from the glow cast through the blinds. It made only the faintest sound as it was lightly jiggled.  
Vivienne's heart was in her throat as she lifted her glock slowly to train on the door. She couldn't spare a second thinking about what might happen if she died there in the shitty motel, no matter how much the idea pressed her.   
There was a slight sound that came from the door to the conjoined room beside hers. Great.  
Then there was silence. If Vivienne could have remembered the words to the ‘hail mary’ prayer her mother would always whisper in penance to her rosary of black beads, now would have been a good time for it.   
Vivienne slowly slid from the edge of the chair to the floor and crawled toward the mattress of her bed.   
Suddenly, the entire knob to the front door blew out of its socket and three silenced bullets pelted into the chair she had been sitting in. Vivienne came up fast after the pause and unloaded three bullets into the man in the door frame. Just as she did that, the other conjoining door came open and Vivienne was aware of the second man entering the room as his partner fell. She dived out of the way as bullets sprayed the carpet where she had taken cover. She returned fire, but missed as her attacker dodged her and circled into the main floor area. Vivienne pushed herself up from the floor and toward him, managing to squeeze a poorly aimed shot off into his leg. Her attacker buckled, but used the momentum to bring the side of his palm down hard to bat the glock out of Vivienne’s hands. Her gun clattered to the floor, but Vivienne swiped her bowie from its sheath and sliced into her aggressor’s wrist. He shouted and grabbed his arm, dropping his gun. Vivienne took the opportunity to lunge forward and push her bowie hard into his chest.  
A show was fired behind her and Vivienne turned to see the man she had attempted to eliminate earlier propping himself up on his elbow with his gun trained on her. Vivienne grabbed her glock from the floor and dropped to her knees to squeeze a shot off which pelted almost perfectly between the man’s eyes. He fell immediately and Vivienne turned around to survey the scene—she didn’t need another surprise like that from his friend, but it seemed like the bowie had done its job.   
Vivienne breathed shakily. It had been a while since she had gotten an adrenaline rush from killing and she didn’t know exactly how she was supposed to feel about it anymore. Her endorphins argued otherwise.   
Once she was sure that no-one was getting up, Vivienne went cautiously out to the SUV. She checked the back seats, but no-one else was in the car. She opened up the cargo space and looked over the equipment there. There was a tarp, two shovels, and a case which held two other guns and an abundance of ammunition. It seemed like overkill, but maybe not, since she was the one to come back to it and not the two owners of the tack.   
Vivienne chuckled. “Niiice.” She grabbed the tarp.

After rolling the first guy onto the tarp and dragging him out into the dark brush behind the motel, Vivienne came back for the second. He was larger and much harder to move. It was times like these when Rollins or Cooper would take up the challenge after laughing at her for trying to lift a heavy corpse by herself. She didn’t have them, which really sucked, but she did have all night, and if that’s what it would take to get the job done, then that’s what she would give it.   
She finally cleared the door frame with the body when she saw the face of her phone light up again back inside the darkness of the room. Vivienne paused and watched it. She dropped the tarp and looked around the parking lot. Apart from the SUV, her car was the only other vehicle parked there. She looked out into the brush, but it was quiet.  
She stepped over the body and went back into the room, picking up her phone on the last vibration. The number popped up as a missed call and Vivienne checked her call logs. The number had tried to call five times. The first three had been before she had been attacked. Vivienne slowly set her phone on the bed and went back over to the body.   
It was possible that there were more men out there looking for her, or it could all be a coincidence. It was strange, though, because she had just changed her number and hadn’t given it to anyone but SHIELD and SHIELD would never call an Agent’s private phone.  
Vivienne picked up the tarp and continued her grueling task of hauling away the body.   
When she was finished concealing the two men in the brush, she walked back to her room. She had pocketed the keys to the SUV from the first guy’s corpse and locked the vehicle before walking back to the door. After the initial adrenaline surge from earlier, she was tired and needed a shower desperately.   
She stepped into the darkness of the room.   
Before she could react, a sack was pulled down over her head and she was grabbed from behind by two pairs of thick arms.  
Vivienne tried to cry out in alarm, but a hand cupped over her mouth, She bucked, but the men were too strong for her to escape from and they pulled her arms up behind her back. Vivienne’s cry of pain was muffled by her new attacker.   
“I woulda shot you nice and easy,” said a deep male voice. His mouth was so close to her ear that she could feel his breath through the sack. “But then you killed Lawrence and Sigmund dirty like you did and shoved them in the bushes. Reeves, do you think those boys deserved to be shoved in the bushes?”  
The response came from the man on Vivienne’s other side. “Not a fuckin bit.”  
“Anyways, we were gonna be nice, but with everything we did, I think we’re gonna take our time. Police ain’t gonna come anywhere near here since you picked the shittiest place to stay. Gotta thank you for that opportunity, I suppose.”  
Vivienne was having a hard time steadying her breathing from behind the first guy’s palm.   
She heard a chair being dragged up behind her and the door to the room closed.  
“Is this the bitch that killed our boys?”  
Vivienne was pushed back into the chair. A third voice had entered the situation—three men.   
“Yep. No wonder Pierce wanted us to kill her. She’s already a goddamn pain in the ass and we only just met.”  
Vivienne’s eyes widened. Pierce. Secretary Pierce had sent them to kill her. They were all HYDRA.  
The hand moved away from her mouth and Vivienne snarled and tried to get up from the chair. She was pushed back hard.  
“HAHAHA look at her try to get up! Where you gonna go, bitch?”  
Her wrists were tied tightly behind her back and another rope was held in tension over her neck tied to her bound wrists. If she tried to wiggle free, she would strangle herself. It was a textbook restraint that she was taught on STRIKE. She knew there was no way out of it.   
Vivienne began to breathe fast in an attempt to hold back her feelings of despair. One of the men forced something that felt like a belt into her mouth and cinched it tight behind her head.   
“What are we starting with, Hicks?”  
“I feel like we should start with making this a real satisfying visit, while she’s still decent-looking.”  
Vivienne’s heart was beating out of her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself somewhere else.  
As soon as she did that, there was a sudden sound of glass shattering and a shout from the men. Vivienne could hear the sound of a body collapsing.   
“HICKS??”  
Vivienne tried to duck down to lower her target space, but it was hard with the neck restraint. One of the men ran past her and opened the door. There was a short cry and then he hit the floor.   
“FUCK! Reeves!”  
Vivienne could hear the material of the third guy’s pants move as she assumed he squatted low and backed behind the bed.   
There was a deafening moment of silence before Vivienne could feel something fly past the right side of her head. She flinched toward her other side and waited with baited breath for the voice of the third man. It didn’t come.   
She heard the cautious sound of footsteps outside. They were approaching at an even pace, the shuffle step that painted the visual of someone checking their surroundings. There was another silence before she could feel someone grabbing the sack that covered her head. She opened her eyes when it was pulled off.  
“Mff—!”  
He crouched in front of her and reached back to undo the belt that gagged her. Vivienne spit it out.  
“CLINT! Oh my God!” She felt like she wanted to cry out of relief.   
“Vivienne! Jesus! What the fuck is going on??”  
He looked like he had just come from the office, except he had a quiver secured over his shoulder and a long black bow in his hand. He circled around her chair to undo her restraints.   
“I thought I had killed them all, but there were more!” Blurted Vivienne.   
Clint freed her hands and Vivienne reached up to massage where the rope had burned her neck.   
“Killed all of who??”  
“Oh my God, Clint—“ Vivienne leapt up from the chair and threw her arms around him. “I thought I was actually going to die!!”  
Clint was clearly taken by surprise, but he eventually hugged her back.   
“It’s ok. I think that was really all of them.”  
Vivienne gritted her teeth. “Fuck…I was actually really scared…”  
“You’re good now, Vi, but we need to get you out of here just in case.” Clint gave her another pat on the back and Vivienne let him go. She looked around at his handiwork before Clint went to retrieve his arrows. She went to the bed to grab her gun, phone, and bowie.  
“How did you know I was in trouble?”  
Clint pulled an arrow from where it was buried in one of his targets. “Long story…Well… not really. I knew something had to have happened for you to leave STRIKE and pick up and move clear across the country just for extended recon and I assumed that something like this might happen if you got mixed up in something bad back in DC…”  
“So, naturally, you assumed the worst from me.”  
“Well,” said Clint, ignoring the comment. “When I saw that SUV follow you out of the parking lot, I knew I was probably right.” Clint went to go take out another arrow. “I would have followed, but I didn’t have any way of knowing where you were, so I went back to SHIELD and got your info. Tracked your phone.”  
Vivienne had packed up all of her weapons and waited with her duffle bag over her shoulder. She knew she should feel thankful that he had cared enough to go through all of what he did to help her, but she hated that he had made those assumptions, regardless of the truth they held. She watched him pull out the last arrow before turning back to her.   
“I tried calling you,” he said.  
“I thought it was them.”  
“So you knew you were being followed.”  
Vivienne let her head fall back to release a little irritation. She didn’t want to have to explain everything, especially when it seemed that Clint had already assumed that she needed his help.   
“Well thank you for coming to my rescue and saving me from the result of my terrible choices, Clint.”  
Either he didn’t sense the sarcasm, or he chose to ignore it. “C’mon,” he nodded from the doorway to the parking lot. “We need to leave, just in case.”  
Vivienne got up from her bed and went over to the body of the man she assumed was Hicks. She pushed him over onto his stomach and pulled his phone from his back pocket.   
“What are you doing?”  
“Texting him to let him know that I’m dead.”  
“Texting who?”  
Vivienne ignored him and found the most likely number with the DC area code. She sent an update and then tucked the phone back into Hicks’ pocket. She walked to the bed, grabbed her duffle bag, and went to the door to follow Clint. He didn’t move out of her way.  
“Texting who?” He prodded again.  
“I’ll tell you later.”  
“Is it Rumlow?”  
“I’ll tell you later, Clint.”  
Clint sighed and moved out of her way. Vivienne walked out and unlocked her car, opening the drivers’ side door.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Leaving,” said Vivienne.  
“They know your car, Vi.”  
Vivienne slammed the door. “Well what do you propose I do? I can’t exchange this rental, Clint, it’s…” She checked her phone. “Two in the morning.”  
“You can come back to my place,” said Clint, beginning to walk out over the parking lot.  
Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “Or you could just recommend a really good short term leasing complex.”  
Clint turned back to her and gave her a wilting look. “Really?”  
Vivienne raised an eyebrow.   
Clint shook his head and gestured toward his car with his bow. “Come on.”

 

After a silent car ride through the earliest morning hours of LA with tension hanging like a heavy curtain between the drivers’ and passenger side of the car, they eventually arrived at an apartment building where Clint backed the car into a spot and put it in park.   
Vivienne broke the silence. “What are you going to tell people when they know you killed those guys?”  
“The truth.”  
Vivienne looked across the car at him. He met her gaze and searched her face for something that might convince him to reconsider.   
“Which is what to you?” Asked Vivienne.  
“That you, an acting SHIELD agent, were attacked by an unknown group of men with assault weapons who planned on murdering you…” He paused. “Isn’t that what that was?”  
“If you tell them that I got away, they’re going to come back.”  
Clint laughed dryly. “I can’t tell everyone you’re dead, Vi.”  
“That’s not what I’m saying.”  
Clint stared at her, waiting for her to say it first. Vivienne didn’t volunteer.  
“You don’t want this reported.” Clint waited another minute. “That’s completely ridiculous, not to mention illegal.”  
“Listen,” said Vivienne. “I didn’t want you to get all mixed up in this, Clint, but trust me. No-one can know what happened there. You can’t tell SHIELD. There are people working at SHIELD who aren’t the agents they seem to be…” She hesitated. “You were right…I did get mixed up in something back in DC…But I don’t know who to trust, Clint, other than you. So please…”  
Clint’s brow was marred with conflict. He took in all of her words and weighed them. Vivienne waited, praying that he wouldn’t ask anything else.  
Clint sighed and pulled on his door handle. “I guess I have someone who owes me a favor. Never thought I’d cash in on it, though.”

 

 

A month. An entire month.  
Brock got up from where he had been sitting at his dining room table. He had spread out all of his paperwork across the expanse of it, save the space he spared to set a tumbler of whiskey.   
How was he supposed to sit back and allow Rogers to take the reins of STRIKE for an entire month?   
He was trying to do what he could to set himself up to be there to guide his men without setting foot in SHIELD, but Pierce hadn’t given him any leeway to even make an attempt at doing that. He knew he was in hot water with the boss, but surely the secretary didn’t want things falling to shit on STRIKE while he was suspended.   
At least he had Jack mostly back.  
They had talked a little while Brock had been nursing his hangover that morning before his case. Rollins had offered to make coffee while Brock showered and dressed. As he was pouring him a steaming mug, he said something to the effect of sorry for the emaciated condition of their friendship. He would have never said sorry, but it was something like it and Brock knew that was the best he was going to get from Jack.   
Brock had done is best to explain himself without putting too much weight on the relationship aspect between him and Vivienne and Jack had done his best to listen. What came out of the uncomfortable conversation that tip-toed around an actual apology was the rekindling of what had been lost and Brock was glad for it. At least Jack was still on STRIKE and at least now Brock knew he would have some means of communication through him.  
Cassius and Niko got up and followed him to the kitchen. They were getting bigger every day and they were beginning to trip over their paws.  
Brock looked down at them. “Sit.”  
They sat.  
Brock opened his fridge and pulled out a pack of sirloin and a bag of prepped veggies. Niko began to salivate. Cassius whimpered.   
Brock pulled a knife from the block and carved out strips of the beef, setting equal proportions of them into the dogs’ bowls. Cassius sniffed in the direction of the food and started to get up.   
“Wait,” said Brock firmly.   
Cassius sat down immediately and sniffed his brother’s mouth.   
“I saw you,” said Brock. “Don’t pretend it was him.”  
He poured a measured portion of veggies into the dogs’ bowls and went back to put away the food. Cassius and Niko waited, both drooling profusely now.   
Brock shut the fridge door and looked at them.   
“Eat.”  
The dogs lunged at their bowls.   
Brock smiled a little and began to wash the knife.  
Across the kitchen on the opposite counter, his phone began to vibrate. Brock dried his hands and went to answer it.  
“Yeah,” he said, putting the phone to his ear.  
“Brock it’s me.” It was Jack.  
“Jack, I—“  
“I’m calling to tell you that it’s done, Brock.”  
Brock squinted, turning around to lean against the counter. “What’s done?”  
“Pierce put me in charge of putting together a small task force to find her.”  
Vivienne.  
Brock felt as if lead was spilling through his chest and he didn’t know why. “And?”  
“They found her in LA and had been tracking her. They just confirmed her death.”  
Brock closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.   
“Brock?”  
“Yeah.”  
“If there’s anything you nee—“  
“I don’t,” said Brock abruptly. “I don’t need anything. This had been long overdue so thank—“ he cleared his throat. “Thank you for handling that.”  
“I just thought I should let you—“  
“How did she go?”  
“It was quick.”  
Brock doubted that. The men Rollins would have put together would have been ruthless.  
He nodded. “Ok…”  
There was a silence on the other end, but Brock didn’t know what else to say. He ended the call.   
Cassius and Niko trotted over to him after they had finished eating, tails wagging, completely oblivious.   
Brock went past them and walked through the living room. He picked up a bottle of whiskey from the wet bar and broke the seal. He put the bottle to his lips and took two hard draws before letting the cap drop from his fingers onto the living room carpet and bringing the rest of the bottle to the table to pick up where he had left off with work before feeding the dogs. 

 

Vivienne stood in the entryway to Clint’s apartment.   
Clint had apparently gone downstairs to call upon one of his neighbors who owed him a favor. Vivienne wondered what kind of person the guy must be to be able to take care of the mess that they had made back at the hotel and it annoyed her a little to think that Clint was giving her this much of a hard time if the company he had begun to keep wasn’t too much better than hers.   
She ventured forth a bit into the space and looked around. The apartment was a decent size—bigger than the one he had had back in DC. He had gotten a better couch and the living room space looked a bit tidier than he had always kept things before. The kitchen was small but nice and past that was an open door into a room that Vivienne assumed was the bedroom.   
It was quiet, but Vivienne had to remind herself that it was almost three in the morning. She leaned against a post which stood near the entryway and could feel her eyelids get heavier with every blink. Surely he wouldn’t care if she went over to sit on his couch?  
Vivienne set down her things and pulled off her shoes, walking quietly over to the living room. She sat down on the couch and immediately all of her muscles begged her not to get up again. She propped her head up on her palm and leaned against the armrest, waiting for him to get back. She wondered how much she should tell him. How much could she?  
She wondered if she was going to have to be on the run for the rest of her life.  
Vivienne closed her eyes.

 

Clint walked back down the hall to his apartment. His neighbor hadn’t liked the awakening very much, but he immediately remembered Clint and made a few calls. Clint didn’t want to stick around to listen; he already felt dirty enough about keeping all of this from the authorities, so he started back up the stairs.   
He should have known that getting involved with Vivienne’s affairs again would get messy. It never had been easy before, but it seemed that things had certainly escalated since he had last seen her and he needed to know what had happened between then and now. He had tried not to dip his toe in again when he had seen her in the LA headquarters, but when he saw that SUV pull out of the parking lot to follow her, he knew that he was obligated to help.   
She had been a great friend, but he didn’t know what kind of person she had become in his absence. He had watched her haul bodies out of her motel room and dump them in the trees before he had intervened. He had never seen her in action before and seeing that part of her, though he knew it had always needed to be there while she was working with STRIKE…it completely skewed the memories that he had had of her before, morphing them into this new killer that he didn’t know if he really knew anymore. What had she done to have a whole task team set on her trail to kill her?  
Clint sighed when he reached his door and he let himself back into his apartment, knowing that in doing so, he was again exposing his life to her all over again.  
The apartment was dark and cool and quiet. Vivienne wasn’t where he had left her, but her shoes and bag were at the door.   
Clint tensed and instinctively reached around, but he had left his bow and quiver in his car.   
He walked forward into the apartment, looking around cautiously. Everything looked untouched, no sign of a struggle.   
He went into his living room.  
Vivienne was asleep on his couch, her business jacket gathered over arms and under her chin like a blanket. Her breaths were even and peaceful and for the first time that night, her brow was slack and free of her sarcastic scowl or the worry lines that had creased it.   
Clint felt like he was intruding, seeing her so defenseless. He didn’t know if she would have allowed him to see this part of her if she were awake—the part that made her really human and grounded again.   
He had come into his apartment hoping she would provide him answers, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to ask that of her in that moment.   
He opened the ottoman that was opposite the couch and pulled out a blanket. He shook it out quietly and laid it over her. Vivienne stirred a little, but not enough to wake.   
Clint walked back to lock the door and then went across the apartment to his bedroom to get some sleep.


	6. The Devil's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Convenient coincidences buy some time to think of how best to answer the looming questions involving STRIKE. STRIKE's confidence takes a beating when Rogers sets a new system into action back in DC.

Vivienne opened her eyes. Sunlight was streaming in through the living room window and the couch was basked in light. The room smelled like coffee and she could hear Clint moving around the kitchen. Vivienne started to push herself up off of the couch, rolling her head around to loosen the muscles that had tightened and kinked in her sleep. She looked around with squinted eyes against the brightness of the room. Clint looked up when he noticed that she was awake.  
“Hey,” he said. “I would have told you that that was a futon, but you were already passed out on the couch before I got back in last night.”   
“Oh,” said Vivienne. She yawned and tried to wipe away some of the sleep that still wanted to rest heavily in her eyes with the crook of her arm. She stretched out her arms and stood up, all of the energy she had thought she had awakened with leaving her. Her shoulders slumped. “Ugh.”  
“Coffee?”  
“Please,” said Vivienne, straightening out her shirt. She noticed the small splatters of blood on it here and there.  
Clint noticed, too. “Nice,” he said. “I hope you smudged that DNA all over my couch.”  
Vivienne couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry.”  
“Maybe a shower first.”  
Vivienne startled. “Oh shit, I have a meeting.”  
“With who? It’s Saturday.”  
“Carlton Drake.” She found her phone and checked the time, relaxing a little when she saw that she had a little time.  
“From the Life Foundation?” Clint narrowed his eyes at her. “Didn’t you think you put your fingers in enough pie?”  
“It’s for work,” said Vivienne, rolling her eyes.  
“Towels are in the closet in the hallway,” said Clint, nodding back toward the bathroom. “Don’t think we’re not talking about everything that went down last night.”

 

The warm water felt good as Vivienne pulled it through her hair, which had been matted and greasy with sweat and blood splatters. She didn’t want to look down at the water that washed off of her, so she turned to wash her face.   
So Pierce had sent men to kill her. She wouldn’t have expected anything less. It had been a shock to hear that, but the knowledge of it made her all the more sure that what she was doing was right—covering up the killing of those men, not immediately telling Clint everything she knew. She did still care for him and she didn’t want him to get into trouble. As far as she knew, he hadn’t exposed anything within SHIELD yet and if he didn’t know the truth, maybe that would be better for him—he wouldn’t have to live this backwards life she was living.   
Vivienne reached out for the wall and blinked away the water from her eyes. Eventually, someone would find out those men were dead. Eventually, they would know she killed two of them—this didn’t need to get traced back to Clint, so she hoped whoever had “cleaned up” had disposed of the bodies accordingly. Who else used a fricking bow to kill people?  
Vivienne shut off the water and squeezed out her hair. 

“Black or cream or what?”  
Vivienne took the mug Clint offered her. “Black is fine.”  
She had shimmied into her business attire and pulled back her hair into a sleek-looking style. She slipped the contact lens case into her purse that contained the micro camera contact she would be using to film her tour and checked her departure ticket to San Francisco.  
“You look fancy,” said Clint, leaning against the counter of the kitchen with his own mug.   
“Good,” said Vivienne. “I’m supposed to be wealthy, so let’s hope the suit is actually Gucci and SHIELD didn’t crap out.” She took a long swig from her drink and felt the warm coffee immediately attempt to revitalize her. She tapped her nails on the mug and thought about how to word what she needed to say to him so that it made the most sense. She could tell that he was waiting for her to open the conversation, since he had tried already and failed so many times.  
“Listen,” said Vivienne. “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Clint, and a lot of those have already tried to come back and find me. It seems like being seven states away doesn’t actually help as much as I had hoped it would.”  
She set down her coffee. “You don’t have to keep me here,” she said. “I can’t let you live in danger and I know that this solution is, at best, a temporary fix for the problem. The danger I’m in is something that I brought upon myself and I’m not dragging you into this, so I’m going to leave as soon as I get back from the Life Foundation.”  
Clint drank his coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug.   
Vivienne waited for his response, and when she got nothing from him, she raised an eyebrow. “So…” She started to turn away. “I have to—“  
“That is not at all what I wanted you to tell me,” interrupted Clint.   
Vivienne shifted her weight in heels that were ridiculously uncomfortable.   
“I want you to tell me how this happened so that maybe I can help you fix it. I’m not letting you walk right back out to these people who are trying to kill you if you think this is going to keep happening.”  
Vivienne shook her head slowly and took her time taking another sip from her drink. She should have known that parting ways wouldn’t be that easy. “It’s not something I can just tell you and—“  
“Is this about the mercenary contracts?”  
Vivienne looked up at him. “What?”  
Clint picked up his phone from the counter and unlocked the screen, scrolling through something on the face of it. “I did some research and found out that Agent Rumlow went to court yesterday. He was found guilty of using the STRIKE team to fulfill a mercenary contract and…”  
Vivienne went forward and took his phone out of his hands. She began to read the article from the SHIELD Triskelion back in DC. The article summarized the court findings and the ruling and that apparently he was found to have taken “mercenary contracts” while appearing to act in SHIELD’s interests.   
Rumlow’s ass had been saved somehow. It had probably been a rigged investigation. She noticed that he was also cited on sexual misconduct with a subordinate. She looked up at Clint, and he raised his eyebrows back at her.  
“And that,” he said.  
Vivienne gave him his phone back.   
“So are you running from DC because you exposed him?” asked Clint. “Because if that’s the case, you did the right thing. If he sent those guys to kill you, I’m assuming you know of more times that this has happened than just this one instance that he has been tried for?”  
Vivienne searched his eyes. Clint had already convinced himself that this was the case.   
“I can’t get back into this,” said Vivienne. “I can’t go anywhere near him, Clint. I can’t go back and tell anyone.”  
“Well you’re not anywhere in the wrong here, Vivienne. SHIELD would protect you from him and he would be locked up where he belongs if you come forward with the information you have.” Clint frowned. “Why didn’t you just tell me that this is what’s going on?”  
Vivienne shook her head slowly. “I can’t get you mixed up in this. I mean it. I’m not going back.”  
“Are you still protecting him?”  
“He tried to kill me,” snapped Vivienne. “This is for your safety.”  
“—That he’s still a free man…”  
“He’s not the head of STRIKE anymore and it said it in the article; he’s being monitored.”  
“Vivienne, I feel like—“  
“If you try to make me come forward with anything else, I’m going to deny it, Clint.” Vivienne reached for her purse that sat on the table. “I’m doing this to protect you, and I’ve made up my mind, so don’t be mad at me for it. He’s more powerful than you think.”  
Clint got up from where he was leaning and started to walk across the kitchen toward her.   
“I have to go,” said Vivienne. “Or I’m going to be late. I’m not letting all of this stuff from DC interfere with what I’ve got going on here.”  
Clint watched her pick up her phone and dial.   
“I think it already is.”  
Vivienne looked back at him and put the phone to her ear. “Yes, I need an escort to come pick me up. I’m headed to the airport and need a ride as soon as you can make it.”

 

The drama of the San Francisco Life Foundation started as soon as Vivienne’s limo pulled through the heavily-secured gates and only amplified as bits and pieces of the center itself could be seen in fleeting glimpses through the dense trees surrounding the site. The road to the building was long and took several minutes of driving to finally get to where the trees opened up into a clearing that housed the grounds of the Foundation at the end of it.  
It was a large structure and in approaching it, one could only see the front of it. From the surveillance that Vivienne had performed earlier that week, she knew that the building wrapped around the cliff that it sat on, taking up much of the hillside above the bay.  
They pulled up to the front of it and Vivienne immediately recognized Carlton Drake and his security team beside the curb. The giant glass and steel structure loomed over the car and offered some cool shade from the California sun.  
The car stopped and the driver got out to open the door for her. Vivienne stepped out and waited for Carlton to address her. She didn’t have to wait long.  
Carton came forward, extending a hand. “Valerie Croom, I presume?”  
Vivienne took it with a smile—not overly friendly. “Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Drake.”  
“Call me Carlton,” said Carlton with a smile. “I insist. Now, if you’d like to get out of this heat, I can show you around the building and give you a tour of what your Sponsor would be supporting.”  
“Please,” said Vivienne. “I’ve heard many good things and I’m eager to report back with a wealth of information.”  
They walked forward together and the double doors were opened for them by a couple of armed guards that stood out front.  
“You don’t spare expense on security,” said Vivienne. “That’s good to see.”  
“Yes,” said Carlton. “Around the clock, we always have at least fifty men on security throughout the complex.”  
He led her through a waived security checkpoint on the inside of the building.   
Vivienne bushed her fingers over the equipment. “Good hardware,” she said. “The other company my sponsor supports uses these machines as well.”  
“Yes. The newest models. Can’t get anywhere near here without a retinal scan and a full body scan.” Carlton nodded at the guards as they passed by. “But since the basis of a good partnership is built on trust, today we can bypass those formalities.”  
He led her deeper into the building and then took her down a sun-kissed hall. The flooring was white marble and the walls were spotless and just as bright. Vivienne looked up overhead at the criss-cross of staircases as they passed underneath them and then into another hall. This hall was darker with windows that stretched down the entire length of it showing lab technicians busy on the other side of the glass.   
Vivienne stopped and slowly approached the windows to watch for a minute. The lab technician on the other side of the pane paused for a minute to look up and then went back to titrating a yellow fluid in a beaker. Vivienne made sure that she looked over the room slowly and carefully so that, if need be, she could go back and revisit the footage that the teeny camera in her left contact was capturing.   
“So this…?” She began.  
“This is where the magic happens,” said Carton. “Right now, each of those scientists you see are pulling formulas off of an infinite database of informed material that they are recording and preparing for testing to combat illness.”  
“Wow,” said Vivienne.  
“So your sponsor—I’ve never heard of the company before…”  
Vivienne finished looking over the space before turning back to Drake. “Oh, that’s because we are relatively new. The Swedish oil billionaire, Franz Zannon, succumbed finally to cancer, leaving his son, Isak, his fortune and business. Our ‘company’—” Vivienne interjected air quotes with a smile—“Is Isak Zannon’s philanthropist agenda, so that is probably why you have never heard of us.”  
Carlton nodded once. “Ah,” he said. “Well we are certainly a good organization to flaunt when it comes to charity. No one else can match our resources and our staff. We are truly the most likely to reach a cure for cancer before any of our competitors even touch close enough to the correct formula.”  
“I thought maybe the other labs might share data. Wouldn’t that speed up the likelihood of coming up with a cure faster?”  
Carlton tilted his head to the side. “Well, yes. And we do share information, but what I would like your sponsor to know is that, as a potential stock owner with us, we want to be the first to find that cure.”  
Vivienne smiled, but it was all through her teeth. “Very good.”  
“Shall we continue?”

Drake continued to lead Vivienne throughout the greater portion of what Vivienne knew was the front of the facility. People of her ‘stature’ were typically toured through these halls and, seeing what they believed to be significant progress toward finding a cure for cancer, they were completely sold when they reached the front door again and information was exchanged and deals were made.   
Vivienne, however, was less concerned with the false front of the place and more concerned with the bits and pieces of what she had seen through the back windows while surveying the building from the bridge. She had slipped a frequency-manipulating bug onto the security portal in the front when she had touched it, but it wouldn’t be activated until she could plan a good time to slip back into the facility without a tour guide. She had a fair basis of coverage from her retinal camera to be able to easily plan another trip by the time that Carlton checked his watch and started to direct her back to the façade to hopefully make a deal.   
As they came back into the lobby, Vivienne looked around again and then back at Carlton, who looked at her as if waiting for an answer.   
“I’m sorry?” said Vivienne, completely missing whatever it was that he had said to her.  
“So did I impress enough to report back to Sweden?”  
“Oh,” she smiled. “Yes, this facility is really very impressive. I have to make a few calls, but you can expect to hear from me in the next day or so. It’s a long flight back.”  
“Understood,” said Carlton, extending a hand. “I hope that you know that you can reach out at any time with more questions about our research center. The Life Foundation looks forward to partnering with Isak Zannon.”  
Vivienne shook his hand and nodded. “I will be sure to tell Isak about the phenomenal work you are doing here.”  
After being seen back to her waiting limo, Vivienne slid into the back seat and cocooned herself inside the belly of the car. She knew that Carlton couldn’t see through the tinted glass between them, but Vivienne couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he gave her until her car was out of his sightline.   
She took a bottle of water from the mini bar and unscrewed the cap, drinking the cool liquid slowly in an attempt to revive herself. She allowed herself to relax her muscles and little and she sat back into her seat wondering, as they weaved back through the trees toward the security gate, if there was anything left to the world that wasn’t completely infested with corruption.

 

There was something in the silence that sat stagnant in the gym that reminded Clyde Cooper of something his father had always used to say to him when they were out on the field and the wind would fall away completely, the insects would stop buzzing, and the horses would look around with widened eyes into the hills.  
His father would say that the devil’s eye was upon them. It sounded silly, but until a person was standing in that spot and they experienced that feeling of gut-turning uneasiness, they would never know how accurate that speculation was.   
Who the hell knew what would bring something on like that? Several minutes would pass and the winds would come back and change direction. Hot prairie air would blow strands of hair across their faces as they would look out toward where the sudden anomaly came from. Nothing was ever there, but they could feel it in their chest.  
Northern Texas was days away from the gym in which he stood now, but it was a similar feeling that haunted him in that moment.   
“I hope I’ve got your attention,” said Agent Rogers when he finally decided to speak to the lineup facing him.   
Natasha Romanov stood a little behind him and watched the men’s faces as Rogers spoke. She looked like she was evaluating their reactions and she probably was—who knew how she operated? She could have been doing it for kicks or she could have been opening mental files on each of them in turn.  
Cooper kept his breathing calm and his face stony. He had known this lecture was coming.  
“You are all aware of why Agent Rumlow was suspended and I have my suspicions that maybe some of you, if not all, knew what was going on the whole time.” Rogers looked down the line and eventually met Cooper’s gaze.  
Cooper held his attention coolly until Rogers looked away.   
“There are going to be some big changes with swipe card access, field reports, and personal time logs. I want you to understand that complying with these changes is mandatory.” Rogers paused and unpinned a small metal circle from his uniform. It glowed red around the edges when he removed it as opposed to the green when he had been wearing it. “Also, this device is mandatory while you are on duty as well. Since I will not be able to have a visual on everyone at all times while we are in the field, this is going to help us keep track of each other. When it doesn’t detect a pulse, it glows red and alerts me that you’ve taken it off.”  
“Or died,” suggested Cooper.  
“I suppose,” said Rogers, looking over at him. “But you’ve lasted this long, so I doubt that will be the case. This is only active when you are on duty, so you can put them on when you come in and take them off when you leave.”  
“It’s like taking dogs for a walk,” interjected Romanov with a smirk.  
Rogers looked back at her and she shrugged. “What? They need to know they’re being held accountable now.”  
“Well,” said Rogers, turning back to the team. “She’s not wrong. STRIKE code of conduct and action was followed loosely at best before Agent Rumlow was investigated. Things are going to change, STRIKE. I know you are pissed off about that, but work with me on it or leave.”  
The men were quiet. Cooper clenched his molars a little to hold back the words that he really wanted to say to Rogers.  
“Any questions?”  
“Yeah,” said Cooper. “Where’s Bradshaw? How come she ain’t here anymore?”  
“Bradshaw is a liaison,” said Rogers. “She’ll be at OBSIDIAN for a while…Anything else regarding what I had previously informed you about?”  
Silence.  
“Get ready for PT,” said Rogers. “And don’t forget your pins. You’re dismissed.”  
Cooper fell into step beside Rollins as they headed toward the locker room.   
“They’re fucking tracking us now?” He growled under his breath.  
“Apparently,” said Rollins. “Wait till Rumlow hears about this…”  
Cooper snorted and held the door open to the changing area for Jack. “He was the one who got us into this deep shit, was he not?”  
Rollins sighed. “Partly, but some of it was just a matter of time after Rogers joined the team. We couldn’t keep ditching him without things getting weird.”  
“Rumlow was supposed to be here to see this through,” said Cooper. “How’s he supposed to get us there if he’s suspended for a month?”  
“It’ll still happen, Tex. We report directly to Pierce, now.”  
Cooper hated the guy. How could a slimeball like him become a secretary? “I fuckin’ hate that guy.”  
“Easy,” said Rollins. “He’s the reason you had the opportunity to put a bullet into El Sobrino’s head yourself. He helped you avenge your family.”  
“When we first met, he tried to have me killed like Donahue,” said Cooper lowly. “And I was the best goddamn person for that job and you know it. It’s the only reason I’m here—“  
Rollins looked at him.  
“Except for you. I guess you played a part in that, too.”  
“And if you knew it or not, so did Rumlow,” said Jack. “He helped you, too, so have a little respect.”  
Cooper looked at Jack with some irritation, but Jack had already begun getting undressed and pulling his PT gear from his locker. Cooper opened his own locker and began to pull his hair back with a hair tie.   
“Gonna be one helluva month.”


End file.
